


celestial descent

by dakhtar



Series: voltron crossovers [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Prompt box open, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakhtar/pseuds/dakhtar
Summary: (prompt by epitomus:Well, if it's a crossover can you think of a realistic scenario where Loki meets the Voltron team?)He can remember bleeding from a fatal wound in a dead, dark, realm. Can remember Thor’s bright face stricken with grief, mourning him -him- before he’s even died. Can remember thinking death - even by the hands of an egotistical dark elf - would be better than the fate that the Chitauri had promised him.He's wrong. The she-witch is far worse.





	celestial descent

**Author's Note:**

> I love this prompt, holy heck, but, uh... only got Allura and Lance in here, whoops. Posted originally on tumblr but figured I'd post it here too. Prompts are open, guys, so hit me up at [my tumblr](https://na-jaax.tumblr.com)!

The castle shakes, he thinks. Difficult to tell in the accursed cell the she-witch had put him in. But the slight tremor of the machine draining him dry fits in nicely with his theory, maybe even confirms it for him.

He’s almost certain now, at least.

The cell shakes again - the slightest of trembles, barely felt - and if Loki strains his hearing he can almost hear it, the panicked shouts and stomping feets of overgrown, pathetic mortals.

Purple, sure. Alien, definitely. But mortals, none the less.

Oh, how it burns. How it burns to have been brought to his knees by  _mortals_  once more. Thor would find this oh so funny.

Another tremble. The ever present purple light in his cell flickers.

The door opens.

Loki grins around the gag at the sight in front of him, at the haggard look on the she-witch’s face. She pays him no mind, moving straight for the data terminal in the corner of his cell, pulling out a small, tiny rectangle that Loki knows for certain is the remote to his imprisonment.

Her children loiter in, all hooded and pathetic, circling him with hands already glowing the purple glow of these alien’s magic. Loki can remember when it had been a pale blue, wispy and useless to all ‘cept him, how they’d pulled the knowledge of millennia out of him to learn the secrets of the universe.

He can remember bleeding from a fatal wound in a dead, dark, realm. Can remember Thor’s bright face stricken with grief, mourning him -  _him_  - before he’s even died. Can remember thinking death - even by the hands of an egotistical dark elf - would be better than the fate that the Chitauri had promised him.

He's wrong. The she-witch is far worse.

They lack what she has: the thirst for knowledge. _Thanos_  lacks what she has: the drive to  _grow_. Two things merged with the ruthless intelligence behind her long, thin, face.

Another tremble. One of the druid’s cocks their head to the side. “Third sector breeched. They grow near.”

Haggar snarls, displeasure visible on her face as she comes to face him, back to the door.

Loki would gloat if he could; confirmation of an enemy strong enough to finally trouble the Galra empire awakening some of his own fire. Instead he bares his teeth as much as he can around the painful gag, ignoring the sharp edges that make him bleed.

“To the main fleet, then.” Haggar orders her children, glowing eyes never leaving Loki’s broken form. “We shall resume 5x3y once we move the source.”

The  _source_. The source of the Galra’s study into magic, that is. Loki will make her and her ilk  _burn_  for this injustice.

Soon, too. He can feel two points of magic come closer, both untrained, both wild and unrestrained. One echoes with him - mischievous chaos, fluid and unpredictable - the other more controlled, more along the traditional routes Frigga-

-No. He has no right to her name. No more.

Haggar must notice the same, even with her failing body, her failing senses. “Quickly,” she orders her witches. “Begin the spell.”

Too late. It’ll take them too long.

The door explodes off it’s hinges- the druids in its path scatter like scared children, disappearing in puffs of smoke. A bolt of light beams through, striking Haggar right in her raised hand, and Loki watches -  _watches_  - as the remote falls through the air, adrenaline slowing time down  _just right_  for Loki to gather what little magic he’s been collecting like rain drops, to pool them together and-

The gauntlets holding his hands captive pop open, the machine sucking him dry, keeping him  _paralysed_ , dies, and suddenly,  _suddenly_ -

“No!” Haggar shouts.

Loki Silvertongue rises, gag gone, free at last.

“Oh,” he murmurs, green eyes alighting on the suddenly terrified witch, “ _yes_.”

She pulls out something small, mechanical, and with a hurried, frightened move snaps it in half. Loki reaches for her, face twisting in anger as he realises too late what she’s done, but she’s already gone, disappearing in blue particle lights that beam her away, out of his reach.

Curses, he thinks, gritting his teeth in frustration. Technology truly is the bane of his existence. Stark must be rolling in his grave right about now, delighted to thwart him even while dead.

( _If_  he’s dead. Loki would not be surprised to hear that the foolish mortal found immortality of his own. Impressed, but not surprised.)

The druids abandon ship as soon as their mother leaves, leaving each other to fend for themself. The pink one of the newcomers - the one with smooth, controlled magic - twists her hands and shields her comrade from the druids’ attacks, dispelling the magic easily into the air around her. The blue one - the one with the… rifle? - swoops in below his sheild-sister’s arm, shooting expertly at the few druids that are too late to hide. None of the shots truly hurt them - the cloak and masks have far to much enchantment for that - but they take the hit to signal their exit, puffs of smoke left in their wake.

Loki staggers, then. Holds the machine that has kept him on his knees for what must have been centuries as the adrenaline drains out of him. The pink one rushes to his side, the blue one remaining at the door with his weapon raised. Loki hisses at her, reading the same spirit as the she-witch in her essence. Same species, he realises, fingers clenching into claws at his side, but different war zones? He cannot risk it. He’s been fooled too much by mortals, especially mortals of this specific race.

She must see the danger in his face, must read his willingness to harm her if she comes closer, because she calls for the other - “Lance!” - and switches places with him, guarding the door while he approaches him instead.

Midgardian, Loki realises instantly, something like relief loosening his shoulders (relief? why? since when have  _midgardians_  become preferable to him? how low has he truly fallen?). Sun kissed skin, though lighter than the pink one. Tall. Lean. Loki’s body type.

A fitting weapon he carries then. Long range. Precise. Powerful. (He thinks of Stark again, of the glittering gold and red armour he’d encased himself in. Man of iron indeed. Feels a brief moment of sadness that he hasn’t been able to witness what else the mad man might have created. No. Foolish thoughts. He is  _better_  than this. What has the she-witch  _done_  to him?)

“Hi!” The midgardian greets, blue eyes wide and expression open. “I’m Lance, a Paladin of Voltron, here to defeat the Galra. You’re safe now, we won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Vol… tron?

“Yeah,” the child says- wait, had Loki spoken? Has he truly been drained so much of his essence that he’s lost control of his famed tongue? “Big robot lions that form an even bigger robot man. Legendary defender of the universe. Got it in one.”

A weapon.  _The_  weapon. The one the she-witch’s master coveted the same way Thanos coveted Death.

The same way Odin coveted ultimate subjugation.

“We must go, Lance.” The pink one orders, body tense, glowing whip by her side.

The boy -  _Lance_ , such a strange, peculiar name - throws back an affirmative, calling the pink one a princess. Loki files the title away, ignoring the memories of being called a prince flashing through his mind. He stands tall, pushes at his knees to hold his weight, ignores the weakness in his limbs and the weight of his unkempt hair trailing at his cheeks.

The boy watches him, so obviously wanting to help but respectfully restraining himself, and Loki- Loki  _burns_  with gratitude,  _burns_  with the choice to rise on his own after so long of being stripped of his free will.

A prisoner of Asgard, first. Then a prisoner of Thanos. And then the she-witch.

Always a prisoner.

But no more.

“What’s your name?” The boy asks, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face as Loki stands taller, taller than him. “Where are you from? You look human.  _Are_  you human? I’m human, in case you’re worried.”

He hadn’t been. But it’s always nice to be proven right. Loki has missed being right.

Throwing a disgusted look at the tattered remains of his clothing - purple, like everything else in this blasted Galra empire - Loki dusts himself off, using the movement to to gather his wits about him.

“You…” he stops, hearing how hoarse his voice has become, clears his throat and wets his mouth to try again. “You say you fight the Galra? Fight the she-witch?”

The boy raises a single eyebrow at him - confident, Loki sees, but perhaps just a mask? - and nods. “Yeah. And if by she-witch you mean Haggar, then double yeah.”

Excellent, Loki thinks, feeling his magic slowly begin to rise within him, feeding off the free magic already in the air from his prolonged imprisonment.

“We can discuss this some more once we’re safe,” the pink one - the  _princess_  - says, eyes trained on Loki, something similar to wariness slowly beginning to set in. Ah, Loki realises, she can sense magic - quintessence, the she-witch called it - can sense it rushing to fill up Loki’s empty coffers.

Hmm… He’ll have to keep an eye in her. Potential like that could be dangerous. He will not be a prisoner again. He’d rather bring Ragnarok to pass.

“Yeah!” The boy agrees, gesturing Loki towards the only exit in the room. “Come on, we have a cryopod that can heal you as well.”

More technology. Loki holds back the urge to grimace.

“Then please,” he replies, finally finding his feet, finally feeling strong enough to walk, to  _run_. “Lead the way.”

And they both do, turning towards the door, turning their backs to him, thrilling something dark and thirsty inside him at the vulnerability. He smothers the unhinged grin that threatens to grow, smooths it into complacency, into weariness and exhaustion, into  _victimhood_.

The boy looks back, once, encouraging and open, completely unaware.

The girl - the  _woman_  - looks back, once, uncomfortable and unnerved, confused at her own instincts, at her own reaction to his portrayed innocence.

They both move onwards though, leading him to this… voltron. To this pocket of resistance that has Haggar running, abandoning her research ship.

He’ll find her, come Hel or high water. He’ll find her and  _make her pay_.

**Author's Note:**

> for the low, _low_ price of $5.99, you - yes, _you!_ \- can join me at [my tumblr](https://na-jaax.tumblr.com)! join now, while the offer's still fresh!


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